


say the word

by loyaulte_me_lie



Category: Cinderella (2015), Cinderella - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Ending, F/M, Kit Is A Mess, Lesbian Character, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26621170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyaulte_me_lie/pseuds/loyaulte_me_lie
Summary: In which Ella runs away, Princess Chelina is not at all happy to be married to a man, and things perhaps don’t quite go as the fairytale would have you expect.
Relationships: Prince Charming/Cinderella (Disney)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	say the word

**Author's Note:**

> I had this on my hard-drive for a while, re-watched the movie and figured I'd finish it because I was interested in what would happen in the scenario above. Title from Dermot Kennedy song "Giants", epigraph from Erin Morgenstern's phenomenal "The Starless Sea."

> “It is not the way of cats to interfere with fate.” **– Erin Morgenstern**

**i.**

“I can’t _believe_ her,” Anne says, indignant, shoving her mass of coiled hair out of her face with both hands. “I can’t _fucking_ believe her _,_ oh, that _witch_!”

“I think that’s being kind to witches,” Caroline chimes in, handing Ella a cup of steaming tea and adjusting the soft green blanket around her shoulders. The fire is flickering as though it is amusing a small child, dangling fingers and toes above a crib, and Ella huddles a little closer to it. The autumn nights have a cutting edge to them, and she walked a long way into the town without even a cloak.

“It’s…”

“Don’t you _dare_ say it’s alright.” Anne’s voice is fierce as she sits down on the stool opposite Ella, retrieving the cloth from the bucket of warm water at their feet to dab at Ella’s cheek. It comes away red. “She has _no right_ to treat you like that. Oh, if only you’d been able to come with us when we were fired!”

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Ella points out. “I am her stepdaughter.”

“Well you’re here now,” Caroline says before Anne can get going again, “and that’s all that matters. Thank _god_ you had the sense to leave.”

Ella shrugs, doesn’t quite know what to say to that. The leaving had been her feet and her heart more than her head. The moment Lady Tremaine had swept out of the drawing room – stepping on Ella’s fingers in the process – Ella had hauled herself upright and thought _no._ She’d only stopped to say goodbye to Gusgus and Jaqueline, packed up her mother’s pink dress, her locket, and the battered copy of her favourite book and ducked out into the welcoming arms of the night. At the gate, she’d paused, looking back at the trellises and the tall, green door shielded by its lamplit columns, and felt a pang, deep in her stomach. Even now, the loss of it bleeds. She couldn’t stay. Better to keep the memories safe elsewhere than cling onto her home as it shifts and changes like a mercurial sea beneath her. 

Anne is done with bathing her face and sits back, her dark hair escaping her cap. The firelight shines through it like a halo. Caroline takes her hand, and Anne leans back against her, unconsciously affectionate. Ella’s heart aches. What would it be like to have that again – gentle touches, smiles, the security of knowing that you have someone who loves you, someone who’ll never let you fall?

She takes a sip of her tea to wash away the ashy taste in her mouth, looks away from the pair of them.

“They’re looking for maids up at the palace,” Caroline says after a moment. “That might be the best thing for you to do. Earn some money of your own, get settled, decide what you want.”

“Alright,” Ella says, trying to keep the exhaustion out of her voice. If she gets a job in the palace, perhaps she’ll see Mister Kit again. He had such kind eyes, listened to her like no-one has since her mother passed. She’d like to find him, to thank him. If she hadn’t met him, she wonders whether she would have left. “Thank you for this. I know I just showed up on your doorstep and…”

“Ella. Sweetheart.” Caroline gives her a very firm look. “We’ve known you since you were a babe in swaddling clothes, and your parents were kind, generous employers. It’s the least we could do in return.”

Anne is nodding vigorously, and Ella feels the prick of tears in the back of her throat, chokes them back down.

“Thank you,” she says again and lets the pair of them pull her into an embrace.

**ii.**

She has the realization very suddenly on a very ordinary day. She’s on all fours and scrubbing the floor of the grand ballroom when the thought pops into her head that her life belongs to her – to her and no-one else. She earns a good wage for doing the work she toiled at for insults and slaps at home, she has two nice blue dresses and two dark blue aprons with the royal crest stitched onto them, she has a neat little room in the servants’ quarters she shares with confident, sarcastic Mabel and the quiet, thoughtful Subira. She has free time, time to go to lunch with Caroline and Anne once a month. She even attended her first party, the day after the royal wedding, dancing tipsily in the huge servants hall with an endless stream of young men (all astutely but hilariously judged by a very drunk Mabel). She could, hypothetically, leave whenever she wants – not that she wants to, but to have the choice so clearly laid out for her is freeing, after everything that’s come before.

She’d never realised that this – _any_ of it – is something she could have had. It’s rather dizzying to realise that it is all within her hands, right this second.

“Ella! Are you doing alright down there?”

“Hello!” Ella calls back.

Mabel comes slowly down the staircase, heaving her own bucket of soapy water. “Mrs Davinier sent me to help you,” she says, slightly out of breath. “How’s it going? Drowned yourself in your bucket yet?”

“I’ve done about a quarter, so far,” Ella replies, pushing some of her hair out of her eyes. She wears it in a braid, nowadays, to keep it out of the way. No use for long, loose hair in a palace unless you’re one of the noble ladies, or Queen Chelina. Queen Chelina has lovely hair, all straight and boot-polish black, glinting in the candlelight. “Do you want to start over by that staircase?”

“Of course. Keep singing, I’ll try and harmonise.”

Mabel has a beautiful, low voice, and she joins in with an old sea shanty that Ella picked up off one of the sailors at the fish market the other day. One day, Mabel wants to take Ella and Subira singing in one of the pubs, pick up coins and handsome men; it sounds like the kind of fun Ella’s only just realised she can have. She beams at Mabel across the ballroom, and sways along with their voices, mopping the black and white parquet floor until it gleams.

The only thing that she wishes for, quietly, late at night, is to run into Mister Kit. She hasn’t seen him once since that magical day in the woods and dreams about turning a corner to find him there, blue eyed and handsome as a fairytale, dreams about the way he’d smile when he sees her, when he realises that she’s here too. It’s not the biggest deal. She’s sure he’s terribly busy with his trade. One day it might happen. One day.

**iii.**

“Right,” Kit says, looking up at the sound of the bathroom door. Chelina – his wife, it’s been three months and he's yet to be used to saying that – puts her hands on her hips, gives him a sharp little smile.

“What do you think?”

“I mean…”

“I was getting sick of wearing dresses.”

“I guessed. You do know the other ladies are going to eat you alive?”

“You do know I don’t give a damn about the other ladies? I’m their queen. I get to do what I want.”

“Of course,” Kit agrees, pulling one knee up to his chest. Chelina looks fantastic, she always does; the white trousers cinch in at her waist, and her vermillion, gold-embroidered waistcoat sets off her warm brown skin and black braid to perfection. He’s quite sure she _knows_ how good she looks as well, and to be honest, he’s rather enjoying the fact that Chelina is exactly _nothing_ like the wife the Grand Duke thought she would be. He’s rather grateful for it all, if he’s honest. On their wedding night, Chelina had sat down heavily next to him on the bed and started laughing.

“What?” he’d said. “What’s so funny?”

“I don’t like men and you’re obviously in love with another woman,” she’d responded, patting his shoulder like one would a dog or a horse. “How about we _don’t_ consummate this farce of a marriage?”

“Thank God,” Kit had said, falling back onto the bed, knots of nerves evaporating with a fizz. After a moment, Chelina had joined him. “Friends?”

“Friends,” she’d grinned, and they’d spent their wedding night getting steadily drunker and trading wild gossip from their respective countries.

“What are you doing today?” she asks, idly.

“There’s a hunt organised for the new ambassador from Arendelle and a lunch to discuss my visit next week,” he says. “And then I imagine I’ll be stuck with the cabinet this afternoon going over the minutiae of the trade deal with your mother. Please feel free to interrupt either of those things.”

“I’ll come and keep you company in cabinet,” Chelina shrugs. “I’m going down to the market with Noor to kiss some small children and catch up on the gossip.”

“Get some of that nice soap and ask after the vendor’s new baby, would you?”

“Anything for you, pudding cheeks.”

“That’s…horrifying.”

“I heard one of my ladies use it on her lover.”

Kit rolls his eyes. “This _court._ ”

“Have fun with the ambassador,” she says, ruffling his hair and sweeping magnificently out of the room. He considers the ceiling for a moment, thoughts drifting back, as they usually do, to the girl in the woods with her sunlit smile and wise words and the dirt smudged grey over one fair eyebrow. He’s ridden out that way several times since but not seen her again, and is beginning to wonder whether she is indeed a figment of his imagination. He hopes not. He really hopes not.

He sighs, heavily, and then pulls himself up, rolls his shoulders, and heads out of the safety of his bedchamber into the palace.

**iv.**

It is the cat’s fault. Ella is cleaning the throne room – alone, Subira was called away to help in the kitchen – and she finds the fluffy, stripy cat curled up under the throne. She puts down her feather duster and kneels so she’s more on its level.

“What are you doing down there you silly thing?”

The cat makes a noise like a cross between a growl and a purr which implies that it resents being called silly and having its life choices questioned by interfering humans.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I suppose it’s nice and comfortable under the throne. It looks comfortable. Is that a cushion? Did the King leave you a cushion?”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” an amused voice says from the doorway and Ella starts so hard she thinks her heart might just eject itself from her chest. She scrambles upright as fast as she can, drops into a low curtsey, feather duster tickling her ankles.

“That’s a very kind thing to do,” she says to the floor and is answered by silence. She hazards a glance up.

Mister Kit is staring at her, eyes wide and mouth open in shock. He’s wearing a fine coat of green embroidered with gold braid, white trousers, tall boots, a blue silk cravat. His hair is loose and tousled, exactly like it was in the woods, and there are rings on his fingers – a wedding ring, a signet ring – and Ella is…Ella is…she doesn’t know the word for having all of her dreams come true, all at once. She doesn’t think there is one. She stares back, all panic forgotten.

“It’s you,” he says hoarsely, after a second of ear-ringing silence.

“It’s me,” she says, steady. He makes her feel steady, grounded, earthed. He did last time, too. “Your Majesty-”

“Kit,” he corrects.

“But-”

“No. Not for you. Never for you.” He pauses and then laughs, incredulous. “Have you been working here under my nose this entire time?”

“No, I…” she sighs. “Only the last few months. It’s a long story.”

He steps closer, once, twice, three times, crossing the hall and mounting the steps to where she’s standing next to the throne, blue cotton dress against blue velvet hangings, blue on blue on blue. The cat uncurls from its hole to see what all the fuss is about it. It mews, once, begins to wind around Ella’s legs.

“You’ll have to tell it to me,” Kit says.

“I will.”

“What’s your name?”

“Ella,” she whispers. He’s so close now, just a hand’s breadth away, only a little taller than she is. His eyes are so very blue, like the sky in a perfectly good mood, and they’re fixed on hers. She can smell pine and wind and cloves and almost unbidden, her eyes flit down to his mouth, his smile, the dimple in his cheek, the mole just under his left eye. The thought of kissing him slips into her head and suddenly she can think of nothing else.

“Ella,” he says in much the same tone of voice, reverent. His hand is suddenly holding her elbow; she can feel the warmth of his palm through her sleeve. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she responds, tilting her head up just a little. He reaches out to brush a stray curl behind her ear when suddenly she sees his rings again, his wedding ring glinting in the wash of daylight from the big windows. It’s a golden slap in the face, hard enough to hurt. She jerks back suddenly, out of his arms, nearly tripping over the cat – only his hand on her elbow saves her.

“We… _no,_ ”

“Ella?”

“You’re married,” she says, the words ash in her mouth. “We can’t.”

His eyebrows have that little dent between them. She wants to kiss it away and hates herself for it.

“Chelina won’t mind,” he says, and at her frown. “I’m serious.”

“Won’t mind?” Ella feels her voice rise. His wife _won’t mind_? What sort of wife doesn’t mind her husband kissing another woman? What is she doing? She can’t – she _won’t_ – betray another woman’s trust like this, she won’t let Kit break his vows. And, love or not, she didn’t think he was the kind of man to even think about something like this. She stares at him, filing this new information away. He just looks perturbed, opens his mouth to try again…

Footsteps. The door bangs open and Kit lets go of her like he’s been shocked. Ella takes several steps backwards, mercifully avoiding the cat, and bends to pick up her duster and broom.

“Your Majesty!” the Grand Duke says, coming into the room trailed by a bevy of women and men in the bright robes of Zaragosan nobles. Then, “what the devil is that maid still doing here?”

Ella flushes, dips another curtsey.

“She found Lyra hiding,” Kit says, and then he turns back to her. “You’re dismissed.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Ella says, choking back sudden tears. She hauls her broom up and flees the room; the guards shut it behind her, and she ducks gratefully through the nearest servants’ door. The staircase behind it is empty and she slumps down on one of the steps, buries her face in her skirts and takes several deep breaths to ward off her tears.

“Meow,” says Lyra the cat, butting its head against her knee.

“Are you telling me it’ll be alright?” Ella asks wetly, swiping at her eyes and hauling the cat into her lap. It licks her chin once and then begins to purr as if to tell her that yes, everything will be alright and she should stop being so silly at once.

“Well then,” Ella says. “I’ll take your word for it.”

**v.**

“I can’t…I just…she didn’t even let me get the words out!”

Kit is pacing in the Lady Noor’s office. Noor and Chelina are watching him from the loveseat in the window; Noor with her usual patience, Chelina with badly-disguised amusement. Ostensibly he’s here for an intelligence report – that is Noor’s job after all, to run their spy network – but really the three of them have privately termed this office their break-down room. Noor broke several vases in a vicious and uncharacteristic fit of temper when it became apparent that a well known assassin and her sworn enemy had – somehow – wormed his way out of an impenetrable prison. Chelina has cried over the loss of her younger brother to battle here not two months ago. Kit himself has had many breakdowns on this carpet and loveseat over the last three months – about his father, about the pressures of ruling, about Ella. It usually ends in hugs and alcohol. He doesn’t know where he’d be without Noor, Chelina, and the never-ending loyalty and support of Captain Bertram.

“Think of it from her perspective,” Noor says, ever the voice of reason.

Kit stops abruptly. He can’t believe this hasn’t occurred to him before. He’s been so caught up in her _being_ there, right in front of him, that he hasn’t stopped to think. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Chelina chimes in. “I wouldn’t be too impressed if I was in her shoes.”

“Especially if this girl’s as good as you make her out to be.”

“Fuck,” Kit says, sinking into Noor’s impressively carved desk chair and burying his head in his hands. He doesn’t often swear but this feels like an apt moment for it.

“Yes, Kit!” Chelina crows, triumphant. He knows that if he looks up she’ll be fist-pumping and that Noor will be giving her a gentle not-now look. He likes that he knows this about them, despite having known them four months, despite the fact they’ve been together for nearly six years.

“It’ll be ok,” Noor says. “Just talk to her.”

“I’m leaving for Arendelle in the morning,” Kit points out, “and it’s not like I can haul her up at court dinner to announce that having an affair with me doesn’t matter considering that you two are together.”

“Talk to her when you get back.”

“What if she leaves when I’m away?”

“Oh for the Mother’s sake,” Chelina sighs gustily. “ _I’ll_ talk to her, you great worrywart.”

“And I’ll make sure she isn’t too scary,” Noor says, and then repeats for good measure, “it’ll be ok, Kit. Promise.”

**vi.**

“Ella,” Mrs Davinier materialises at Ella’s elbow in the back laundry yards where she’s pulling fresh, billowing sheets from the laundry lines, all severe and crow-like, ring of iron keys jangling at her hip. “The Queen has summoned you.”

Ella freezes. She’s been half-expecting this for days – well, this or being unceremoniously thrown out on her ear. She didn’t imagine Queen Chelina would go so far as to speak to her, a lowly maid.

“The Queen?” she asks, cautious.

“Yes,” Mrs Davinier says, lips pursed in a way that implies all of her opinions on serving girls being summoned into the presence of royalty. “She wants you as soon as you’re able, Mother knows why. Tidy your hair, girl, Subira, come and help her!”

Subira abandons her own basket of sheets to come and fix Ella’s braid for her as Ella’s hands are shaking too badly, and then walks her up to the Queen’s apartments.

“What does she want?” she asks as they approach the gilded door, flanked by two armed soldiers.

“I have no idea,” Ella whispers. Her voice shakes. She knows what this is about and she’s dreading it more than she’s dreaded anything in her life.

“It’ll be alright,” Subira says encouragingly, squeezing Ella’s hand.

“Thank you.”

The guards open one of the doors for her and then Ella is crossing a presence chamber dotted with beautiful ladies in fine dresses who make such an effort at concealing their stares it’s almost entertaining. Another set of doors, smaller, but just as finely wrought and then Ella is stepping into a small inner chamber with a set of divans clustered around a small fireplace. Queen Chelina is sitting on one of them, resplendent in gold and red, her hair caught up in a small, delicate circlet. She’s accompanied by a small, plump woman with black-brown skin and a puff of dark hair like a halo around her head who gives Ella a small, close-mouthed smile. Ella entertains the thought of fainting before sharply pulling herself together. She is going to meet her fate bravely.

“Ella Tremaine?” Queen Chelina asks. Her face is unreadable.

Ella sinks down into a deep and relatively steady curtsey. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Get up,” Queen Chelina says. “Those curtseys hurt. I’m not trying to torture you.”

Ella rises, folds her hands behind her back, takes a deep breath. Queen Chelina meets her eyes, and then she smiles, just a little.

“So you’re the one who’s turned my husband into an emotional mess.”

“Chelina,” her companion says softly.

“What, Noor? It’s only the truth.”

Lady Noor – Ella has a face to put to the name now – pulls a face.

“I’m so sorry,” Ella says, unbidden. One of Queen Chelina’s perfect eyebrows rises at Ella’s presumptuousness but she’s started now, can’t stop, has to say the piece she’s been turning over in her head ever since leaving the throne room. “I can leave the kingdom, go somewhere else. I have no desire to trouble your marriage or encourage His Majesty to break his vows…he wasn’t wed when we first met, but he is now and that matters to me and…”

“Ella,” Chelina says, sharply. Ella feels it in her chest, breathes again. It’s alright. She’s lived through worse than this. “Stop this nonsense.”

“Nonsense, Your Majesty?”

“Nonsense about leaving,” Chelina waves a perfectly manicured hand. “If you left you’d break Kit’s heart and I’d have to deal with the aftermath. Not something I want to do.”

“Your Majesty=”

“You’d be doing us both a favour if you stayed.”

“I don’t-”

“Chelina,” Lady Noor says, reproving, and then in one single, fluid instant, Queen Chelina has twisted, taken Lady Noor’s face in her hands and kissed her full on the mouth. The kiss lasts for several heartbeats. Ella stares. The two women break apart and Queen Chelina turns back to her, smiling, lipstick a little smudged.

“You understand now?” Chelina asks, gentler than before. “Sit down, you look like you’re going to faint.”

Ella sinks, dazed, onto the opposite divan. “So you don’t…you don’t mind…”

“He is very much in love with you,” Chelina tells her. “And please, _please_ stay. As long as the pair of you are discreet – like Noor and I are – I don’t give a monkey’s arse.” Then, “you love him?”

“So very much,” Ella murmurs. “I hardly know where to begin.”

“Good,” Chelina says, emphatic. “He needs someone to love him the way I can’t.”

Ella takes three slow, deep breaths and then looks up at the Queen who is looking amused again. Lady Noor’s hand is interlaced with hers.

“I suppose this wasn’t the conversation you were expecting,” Lady Noor remarks and Ella shakes her head fervently, smiles a little as the two of them laugh. “We should talk practicalities, whilst we’ve got you. Tea?”

“Please,” Ella says, and lets the second lady of the land pass her a steaming, delicate cup of tea, the smell of spices swirling warm up her nose.

“The easiest thing would be to assign you to my household. Your late father was the Lord Tremaine, correct?” Queen Chelina asks.

“You…how…yes.”

“Noor did her research.” Queen Chelina gives her a small smile. “His daughter should not be working as a scullery maid.”

“I don’t mind being a maid,” Ella protests. “I like to be busy.”

“How many languages can you speak?” Chelina asks, ignoring her.

“Three.”

“Good penmanship?”

“I’ve been writing letters since I was a child.”

“Organisation?”

“I ran my stepmother’s household.”

“Hmm.” Queen Chelina and Lady Noor look at each other, a speaking look, the kind her parents used to use as well. Ella reminds herself to breathe.

“Yes,” Chelina says, evidently coming to a decision. “How should you like to be my lady secretary?” I’ve been meaning to appoint one for a while but I’m yet to find a candidate that Noor likes.”

“Your lady secretary?”

“Yes. You work for me – correspondence, papers, schedule – and get to spend evenings and nights with Kit, if you so desire. There are tunnels. I’ll show you or he will.”

Ella doesn’t even have to consider it, feels a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Yes. I would like that very much, Your Majesty.”

“Good,” Queen Chelina’s smile widens in response, her eyes crinkle at the corners. “Well, Lady Ella, Noor will organise gown fittings for you and I’ll dictate your first work to Mrs Davinier, releasing you from service. You’ll have a small office and room in my apartments. Let’s give Kit the surprise of his life, shall we?”

**vii.**

“Why didn’t you _say_ anything?” Mabel asks from her perch on her bed. Her arms are folded, her expression defensive. Ella closes her eyes for a second.

“I didn’t realise I could,” she says, settling on the truth. “I didn’t realise it mattered, not anymore. It didn’t to my stepmother, so…”

“Oh Ella,” Subira says, reaching for Ella’s hand. Her dark eyes are very warm and she rests her head against Ella’s shoulder for a second.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Subira asks.

“You’re not angry at me for keeping it from you?”

“No!” Subira squeezes her hand sharply. “Of course not! It’s your life and your secret. Mabel understands that too, right?”

“Yes,” Mabel says eventually. “It’s alright, Ella. Just promise you won’t forget us.”

“Never!” Ella says. “We have to try that pub we never got to – the Mermaid on the Rocks. You both promised me the best fishcakes in the capital.”

“Damn right,” Mabel says, and lets Ella pull them both into a hug.

**viii.**

Autumn dusk is draping itself over the spires of the palace in hazy, dribbling colours when Kit finally arrives back from Arendelle. It’s been a long but productive week with Queen Elsa, a working trip that has cemented the alliance between their nations and organised the next three state visits but he is the kind of bone-tired that demands food and rest and staying stationary for an extended period of time. He resolutely keeps his mind off Ella, off running to the servants hall and making sure she’s still her. Kings do not run around after servant girls, especially if they want to keep said servant girls away from unkind rumours.

He sees his horse into the capable hands of his stable-master, dismisses his guard, and heads in the direction of Chelina’s apartments as is expected. The guards open the doors and he lingers in the doorway of her presence chamber, taking in the expected scene - ladies tucked away at various pre-dinner pursuits, soft lyre music, flowers, chatter, the hush and sway of long, ornate skirts. Chelina herself is pacing back and forth, watched by Noor, and dictating something to a blonde woman in a pale green velvet day dress.

“No need to stand on ceremony, ladies,” he says as they notice his presence, rustle to their feet.

“My lord husband,” Chelina says, breaking off her sentence and crossing the room to take his hands. He’s not paying attention. The blonde woman has put down her pen, has risen too, and it’s Ella - golden and glowing in the light from the setting sun, brown eyes soft and lips slightly parted, and _Mother,_ she is beautiful. He barely notices Chelina’s greeting kiss, the sly amusement practically evaporating off her.

“We’re dining privately tonight,” she says to him, and then to her ladies, “you’re free to go back to your own apartments. Lady Fortuna, would you check the dining room is ready for the king and I?”

Chelina is asking about his journey and he is answering without thinking, still watching Ella who has turned to tidy her papers away, to respond to a murmured comment from Noor. Lady Fortuna comes back to confirm that dinner is indeed ready. Lyra the cat unearths herself from somewhere – that cat is everywhere – and pads over to Ella, who scoops her up and lets her climb onto Ella’s shoulder. Chelina tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow, tugs him none-too-gently in the direction of their dining room.

“Lady Ella, bring my correspondence through. There are some things I wish to discuss with His Majesty.”

He doesn’t hear Ella’s response, but can feel both her and Noor behind them coming into the dining room. The door shuts and Chelina quickly disentangles herself. The table is set for two, the food already steaming, candles glinting.

“This is where I leave you,” Chelina says. “Noor and I have plans you don’t want to know about.”

“You=” Kit manages and Chelina just tosses her head back, laughs.

“Enjoy, darling,” she says and then she’s gone. Lyra makes a little chirrup noise and disappears out of the room too and then he’s facing Ella, just the two of them, alone in the candlelight and silence.

“I’m sorry,” they both say at the same time and then laugh and Ella steps forward to take his hands. She smells like magnolia and her dress is very soft and she looks cleaner and healthier than he’s ever seen her.

“I assumed=” she begins.

“It was a fair assumption,” he tells her gently. “Chelina isn’t what you’d expect, of a wife or a Queen.”

“You love her.”

“Like the annoying older sister I never had,” Kit says and Ella laughs, tips her head back just a little and his eyes catch on the curve of her throat. “Are you alright with this? She didn’t force you into anything…she can be quite forceful…”

“She was perfectly reassuring,” Ella corrects. “And yes. I am. So much.” She looks up at him from under her eyelashes. “May I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Kit says, and stands perfectly still, waits for her. She reaches up to press her hand to his cheek and then she rises a little on her toes and kisses him, soft and sure and slow and it’s like every love poem he’s ever read, all rolled into one. He slides a hand to her waist, draws her against him, and the world just dissolves away.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr and love to chat! Find me at: @if-fortunate.


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